


Silver and Salt

by Kissa



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissa/pseuds/Kissa
Summary: Geralt of Rivia crosses paths with the manifestation of destiny personified. And no, it's not Ethan Hunt. As usual, Geralt finds himself rubbing elbows (and other body parts) with far larger and more threatening creatures than he'd normally be comfortable with. Luckily for him, his kind heart and honest soul earn him many favours.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 86





	1. Healing

**Author's Note:**

> Look, this story is rather weird, but bear with me.   
> I initially started writing with the intention of it being a one-off PWP. But then ideas started forming and I won't lie, I myself was amazed when elements of the game "Little Misfortune" and the movie "Venom" started weaving themselves into a new story set in the Witcher universe. 
> 
> Like I said, please bear with me.

Geralt found himself at the Temple of Melitele once again; another monster nearly did away with him even as it fell.

His healing powers had been overwhelmed by the extent of his wounds, and Mother Nenneke had yet again put her healing knowledge and skills to good use. Now it was a question of waiting and letting the Witcher heal.

She liked having Geralt around and she enjoyed their conversations once he was well enough to have them. And while he was regenerating in the glass casket, he served as a scary element to keep the novices in line.

If she’d only known that not all novices were built alike.

***

It was the dead of night. The roosters hadn’t yet woken up, let alone crowed.

Hayat opened the door and slithered in, her soft footfalls more silent than a mouse sneaking past the cat.

She had read about Witchers back in her home kingdom. She was destined for big things and she had big plans… until Nilfgaard had come knocking, asking for her. That was when her mother had switched her out with a servant girl and had sent her to the temple of Melitele. The mage advising the White Flame practiced the forbidden magic, both goetia and necromancy, and Hayat’s mother did not want her anywhere near that. So she had thrown her daughter into the whirlpool of destiny, hoping that it would take her away from the encroaching threat of Nilfgaard.

Hayat had never intended to become a priestess. To stay a virgin her entire life, always in the fear that any man who crossed her path would force himself on her and end her life. That was not for her. She wanted to become a mage herself. A Witcher would have been even better, but she’d learned they did not accept girls. And the witcher schools were closing or being destroyed.

Now that their temple was harbouring one such Witcher, her curiosity had been piqued.

She stood in the dark, near the wall, watching the large man laid out thoughtfully in the glass casket, along with healing herbs and incense.

The Witcher was dressed in the loose and airy robes of the temple, the upper part left pooling around his waist to expose the ugly deep gashes across his torso to the healing oils and smoke from the plants and incense.

Hayat had seen open wounds before, and she was not squeamish, but those looked bad. The edges of the wounds were black and quivering.

Something was not right.

_You feel it too, don’t you child? He will die in his sleep._

“Not now, Voice.” Hayat whispered.

Sir Voice had been a constant companion to her since, age ten, her father had sent her to the woods to bring him winter berries. With nothing but a pair of scissors and a basket, the child had been sent out in the snow, without a coat or gloves.

She had seen a black cat on a log, cornered by wolves.

Hayat was afraid of wolves, terrified even. But she had known that very moment that she would rather die torn apart than live with knowing she had allowed a small animal to get hurt.

So, with the recklessness of all her ten short years, she had run up to the wolves, screaming and waving her scissors around. When a wolf tried to snap at her hand, she stabbed him in the snout with her scissors. The wolf’s pained cries shook the clearing and he retreated. Miraculously, so did the other wolves.

When Hayat had looked around, the black cat had disappeared and so had the wolves.

Shaken, she had collected the winter berries she had come for, returning home.

A year had passed, and on the day she had been sent to the forest, a black cat appeared outside her window, watching her with glowing orange eyes.

Sir Voice had been in her life since then. Sometimes protecting her, sometimes warning her of the evil intentions grown ups around her had. Sometimes bargaining with her and teaching her things she knew precisely she should not know.

Hayat could not tell anyone about Sir Voice, because she knew no one else could hear him and so, they would think she was crazy and lock her up.

Sometimes it was hard to cover up how she knew certain things.

She didn’t know who Mr. Voice was. If he was the Devil himself, Chaos itself, someone from another dimension, a djinn or a lesser demon. But he had certain knowledge and he kept her on her toes. And he usually made good points about the situations they found themselves in.

“I don’t want the Witcher to die. He was just doing his job.” Hayat said, moving closer to the glass casket.

_Bad things happen to good people all the time, little, naive Hayat, the voice told her._

“I need to tell Mother Nenneke.”

_She cannot do anything to help him. It is outside the realm of possibilities for any mage alive today._

“There must be something that can be done. You always know better. So think of something!” Hayat stomped her foot.

Standing next to where the Witcher was resting, Hayat looked at him curiously. He bore the marks of someone with a harsh life, but he was not an ugly man. His face looked kind. And despite his white hair, he seemed young.

_It’s simple. For everything given, there must be something taken. And there is no one in the world who can give what is required to save the Witcher’s life. But you should not get so hung up on it. I know why you care. You are drawn to him._

“Even so, Sir Voice. I’m no longer a baby. I can make my own decisions. Tell me what is needed. And why is there no one who can give it? Does no one love this man?”

_Oh no, there are quite a few people who love him. It’s just… for him to keep his life, some has to be lost._

“Do not speak in riddles. Surely I do not have to die to save him?”

_No, silly Hayat. To save Geralt of Rivia, someone would have to give up their power to give life. And there is no breathing woman who will trade that gift… ask any sorceress. They would all give back their youth and power to feel a baby grow inside them._

“Well I’m not a sorceress, and it looks like I’ll be a priestess instead. Some fate I was dealt. I won’t be needing the power to bring someone along into my misery.”

_You don’t know what you’re offering._

“Sir Voice, you often ask me if I am a selfish little girl. Well, yes. I am. I will not miss what I never knew I had or planned to use.”

_What about your bloodline? What if you need to produce heirs?_

“I am my bloodline. Why can’t I be the one to make the ballads and the history scrolls?”

_Still, Hayat. You protest so much, for a stranger. I am not so sure he would show you the same kindness._

“It doesn’t matter, Sir Voice. I want the Witcher to live. And I know exactly what the cost to me will be. All and nothing, since I’m the only one who can give it, and the only one who won’t miss it. Now make it happen. We don’t have all night, Mother Nenneke will come check on her patient soon.”

_Very well, foolish Hayat. Place your left hand on your belly and your right on the Witcher’s wound. This will hurt. Don’t say I didn’t warn you._

Hayat did as Sir Voice told her and braced herself for the pain.

It was immense, and it came at her from all directions. It focused in her core and radiated from there in pulsating, strong waves.

She sweated, cold and sticky. She shivered and fell to her knees. She covered her mouth with both hands and let the tears that had gathered in her eyes spill down her cheeks.

Hayat stood back up and watched as a crystalline black goo flowed from her hand into the Witcher’s wound. The edges of the torn flesh finally began to mend and fuse together, and Hayat felt she needed to rest. She also needed to get out of there before Nenneke did her rounds.

In the morning, Hayat woke up to Nenneke shaking her.

“Wake up, lazy child. It’s your turn to wash the patient. ”

Still in pain and feeling drained, Hayat tried to stay in bed longer, but the priestess put her cold hands onto Hayat’s bare neck, giving her an extremely unpleasant shock.

Sighing and remembering she had to bow her head and obey for the time being, Hayat went to tend to her task.


	2. Fragrant Veils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A no-longer-dying Geralt gets better acquainted with Hayat.

When she made her way to the room where the Witcher was recovering, Hayat held her breath, trying to imagine what she would find in there.

He looked way better than she thought he would. His healing abilities had kicked in and had worked actual miracles. The deep wounds, which exposed the internal organs, had now closed and were crusting over.

Hayat got to work, first removing the glass casket lid.

She had given baths to the dead back home. She was no stranger to what needed to be done, but the idea filled her with trepidation still. Before starting, she leaned over the Witcher’s body and inhaled his scent, out of sheer bestial curiosity.

He did not smell like a man, a heavy, overwhelming and often nauseating and oily smell. He smelled like smoke and ashes and underneath that, she picked up the faint raspberry scent that bodies produced when they cannibalised their own energy supplies. Judging by the corded muscle and protruding blood vessels covering the Witcher, he did not have many such supplies.

He would have to be woken up and fed.

But first, a loving, pleasant bath, with soft girl hands, warm water and soap. Hayat had to remove the robes to clean everywhere, and when she was done , she merely covered the Witcher’s lap with a clean robe. Although she would have loved to keep looking. He was beautiful to her. A bit feral-looking and in need of grooming, but breathtaking nonetheless.

As a final touch, Hayat took out the small vial of scented, nourishing oil she kept in her ample hairdo, to use from time to time on her hair, and she spread some on her hands, warming it up before running the flat of her palms all over the Witcher’s body. Her hands cupped his jaw, sliding down his neck, over the collarbones, to the chest and sides, then back over his belly, and down to his thighs and legs. She did not dare to stray under the robe, although she was dying to touch him again. But he was not really there and it was not nice to take advantage beyond her care duties.

Also, he soon began to stir, and the small pained moans that escaped his lips made Hayat blush and panic. She put the cap back on her oil vial and ran off.

***

Geralt woke up lulled by a cosy warm feeling and he felt himself slowly descending from his dreams and into reality, as though carried on many soft wings.

His dreams had been so sweet and they had filled his cup again. He had relived his early childhood years, full of magic and cute, friendly creatures who loved his mother and him. He had felt safe, for once. And although he’d known it wasn’t real, it felt good to simply revisit that innocent invincibility of his child self. Feeling his mother’s arms around him, lulling him to sleep and singing him a song.

Usually he had the most horrible nightmares, when he did dream. But this time, his dreams had been lovely.

When he was fully awake, he looked at his wounds and knew something was amiss right away. He shouldn’t have healed from the gashes the monster had dealt him. Layers of flesh had been torn, chunks ripped out. He had seen the pulsating, necrotizing edges. He had known it was his time to go and he had made peace with it.

Except now here he was, awake, almost fully healed and smelling incredible of an oil with a scent that was new to him.

He couldn’t tell if it was just his body being happy to feel life course through it anew, or if the oil was enchanted, because parts of him had a head start in awakening.

Geralt lay back down and sighed. He figured he had a brief moment longer to himself, if he didn’t stir too much. It would be a while before the priestesses would come to check on him.

He closed his eyes and slipped his hand under the robe, wrapping his fingers around his girth with just the right amount of force. This had to be quick and precise. He did not want Mother Nenneke to walk in on him defiling her healing chamber… but he also couldn’t hold back, so he dug his heels in the corners of the surface he was on and focused.

***

Not much later, he left the glass casket and went in search of his clothes… and some bath facilities so he could clean up the consequences of his earlier lack of impulse control.

Luckily, he found the bath chamber before anyone got to see him walk the corridors of the healing wing with just the robe held over his lap.

It was not one moment too soon, because Nenneke arrived shortly after, having learned of his miraculous escape from the claws of death.

“Geralt! It’s so good to see you up and about.” She greeted her friend. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I actually died but came back.”

“Odd you should say that. I was not expecting you to recover from that wound. I wonder what happened. It was a magically-charged injury, normal healing methods could do nothing against it.”

“Hmm,” the witcher said, partly to signal he had no clue and partly to express he didn’t care how he had survived.

“Come now. I am sure you must be starving.”

Over the meal, Geralt looked at the novices. He saw a few new faces among them.

“I see some new additions to your girls, Nenneke. Any special cases?”

“Hmm, Lewina has some prophetic dreams, Audreline sings to plants and makes them grow faster, Anitta is really advanced at healing sciences. And the one cowering in the shadows, big messy hair and dark robes, is Hayat. The queen of Gemmera gave her to us. I couldn’t get much out of her, but I suppose she is someone’s illegitimate child and it was either send her to be a priestess at the end of the world, or kill her. She’s nothing special and a bit crazy. But she’s harmless and she lives in her own world. Pay her no mind.”

Geralt nodded and drank from the wine in front of him, but he was drawn to Hayat. Something inside him had a soft spot for the quiet outcast.

_He is watching you. You’ve made quite the impression._

“No he’s not. He’s watching everyone. And he doesn’t know it was me back there.” Hayat said under her breath.

_He is very easy on the eye. Now I see…_

“You see nothing. Now let me enjoy my dinner.”

_Have some blackberries. You need the nutrients. And I love them._

“Fine.”

Hayat reached for the blackberries just as Anitta, sitting opposite her drove her fork into the bowl of berries. The low hum of conversation was interrupted by the horrible sound of metal breaking while smashing against solid rock. Only there was no rock on the table, just Hayat’s hand and Anitta had smashed her fork into it.

Hayat grabbed a fistful of the berries and placed them on her plate, growling.

“Wait for your turn.” She said.

“See, Geralt? I have to play parent to these girls and manage all their burgeoning, flexing egos.” Nenneke said. “Do not envy us.”

She raised her voice and made sure everyone heard her when she spoke next.

“Hayat. Dinner is over. Go to your chambers. I expect to see you again tomorrow at prayer.”

The girl stood in a flurry of black veils which still left her a lot of freedom of movement, since they exposed her legs almost completely.

She was built like a snow leopard, muscular and rounded, and Geralt couldn’t help but feel intrigued and drawn to her. Not just because she had naked legs on show, but also because of the air of defiance about her.

She left the table with her hard earned berries, walking past Geralt on her way out.

Her perfume hit Geralt like a wall of fire. It was the same arousing fragrance he had woken up to find himself covered in.

“Ah, to be a teenager, and have your blood boil over trivial things. She’ll be fine come morning.” Nenneke remarked. “I know she doesn’t look it because she’s so built, like a mountain, but Hayat is only fifteen.”

Geralt rolled his eyes inwardly. Nenneke didn’t have to issue veiled warnings. He would not be fucking her novices under her roof, after she had generously sheltered him and overseen his recovery. That would be in poor taste. And it wasn’t like there was a shortage of men and women of age willing to satisfy his cravings.

What cursed, dark corner of his mind pushed him to roam the subterranean levels of the temple past midnight, then?


	3. Close to the flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is faced with temptation and he... gently... pushes it... away.

When he arrived at the lowermost level, he saw Hayat bathing in the hot spring under the temple. Which was very risky, because only the thinnest layer separated it from the river of lava beneath and the water was prone to sudden temperature rises.    
  
But Hayat had washed her hair and tied it up in an intricate woven pattern of braids, sitting on the stairs of the spring in water that was visibly hotter than what a normal human could take. Geralt could tell because he was feeling lightheaded just from being that close to the heat.    
  
Hayat had small breasts, two barely visible, rounded mounds on her chest. Geralt’s eye was drawn to the silver sun jewels adorning her nipples.  “Shouldn’t you be in your chamber?” He asked.    
  
“Shouldn’t you be recovering?”   
  
“I should. Thanks to you, I suppose.” Geralt admitted. “I came to ask how you did it.”    
  
“I’m just a crazy novice from the temple. I know nothing.” Hayat said, blinking slowly at Geralt.    
  
Geralt found himself blinking back slowly too. The way cats show one another affection.    
  
“You lured me here. I don’t know how, and I do know I couldn’t resist it.” He said.    
  
“You could. You didn’t want to. Because your curiosity got the best of you. Again.”    
  
“Perhaps. I still won’t do what you want. I am not your rent-a-stud.”    
  
“You think this is what all this is about? Oh, make no mistake, had that been the purpose I had for you, I would not have chosen for you to live to see the sun set.”    
  
“I am now certain you are not who Nenneke thinks you are. I watched you at dinner earlier. You are a princess. Everyone there was being pedantic, eating with cutlery and using it even when unnecessary. Only you were relaxed enough not to. Because you’ve been in such situations before, loads of times.”    
  
“How can I be a princess if my kingdom was made one with the ground?” Hayat asked, pushing herself out of the water.    
  
Geralt’s throat closed and went dry as Hayat sat on the marble edge of the spring, leaning back and casually spreading her legs.    
  
“No, no, please. You don’t know what you’re asking for.” He pleaded. “I can’t give you what you want.”    
  
He felt such an irrepressible need to kneel between her legs and taste her - even if it was the last thing he did in his life.    
  
But he thought of her youth and of himself at that age. How he would have loved to be allowed to hold on to childhood for just a while longer.    
  
“You won’t take what I do not wish to give. That is enough for me right now, Geralt of Rivia.”    
  
“There will be plenty of opportunities later. I just don’t wish to be that man. I do not want to be like the monsters I take out.”    
  
Hayat sat up, crossing her legs and watching Geralt sweat profusely.    
  
“You are a far nobler man than I expected. And I will have to live with that.” She said. “Let us move to the ground levels, before you are cooked alive like an unsuspecting frog.”    
  
“Why me? I’m a total stranger to you.”    
  
“A kind stranger. One who knows when to spare his blade. I’ve heard the stories, Geralt. You are a merciful, kind man. I found you fitting for the job.”   
  
“But why the rush? Other than, uh, youth hormones?”    
  
“Because, beautiful but dense witcher, as long as I am a virgin I can still be hunted down, bought and sold like a cow. I would rather live as an outcast than as a slave.”   
  
“You clearly have the power to keep unwanted attention at bay.”   
  
“Wielding power attracts attention. Attention from the wrong people starts hunts and wars.”    
  
“So this is why you let the others and Nenneke treat you like they do?”    
  
“It serves me.” Hayat shrugged.   
  
“You are an amazing and powerful enigma, Hayat. I hope we meet again later. I do owe you my life.” Geralt said.    
  
Hayat dried herself off and put her clothes back on, leading Geralt back to the ground level of the temple.    



	4. An Unspectacular End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt watches Hayat die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, because I needed a pause before what comes next :) I also didn't want to make it too graphic.

“Why is the town so empty?” Geralt asked Roach as they made their way in through the unguarded, open gate. 

As they got closer to the market, he knew why. An execution. 

He walked closer to the source of the crowd noise and saw the scaffold. 

Normally, a witch would be disposed of by fire, since they were considered too dangerous to leave intact. 

But this one? She would soon hang. 

Geralt moved closer to a group of old women standing to the side and, for the price of small talk, he got a full story on what was going on. 

“This woman was found wielding dark magic and the Brotherhood of Sorcerers did not recognise her. They claimed she never got accepted into a mage school, because no magical inclinations could be sensed in her. And so, she never had the chance to ascend. But she still has powers and the alderman called it. Obviously she is practicing goetia, which is forbidden in our lands.” 

“What crimes did she commit?” Geralt asked.

“She was attacked by five men in the forest. They wanted to rape her. A quilt made of their skins was hung on a tree at the gates of our town. She witnessed a man beat his dog and made each of his limbs rot and fall off one by one. The militia members who arrested her all turned to salt and were melted away by a rain that lasted a week.” The oldest woman said. 

“But that is not the bad part. Those men had it coming.” A younger one chimed in. “She touched the alderman’s wife on the belly and the barren woman now has twins. She straightened a poor girl’s deformed leg. Healed the fever that was killing our cows. And she did it for free. The Brotherhood of Sorcerers doesn’t like that. And neither do the lords of this land. So they did what they always do. Found something to blame on her.” 

Geralt expected an old, hunched over woman to walk the short path from the jail cart to the scaffold. 

But instead, he gasped when he saw Hayat, now changed, walk barefoot in the town dirt. 

Life had not been kind to her since they’d parted ways, Geralt saw. Her body was covered in scars old and new, easily observed under her small white shirt. Her jailers had shaved her beautiful big hair, in an attempt to demean and humiliate her. But her beauty shone all the brighter. To Geralt, she was more beautiful than ever. 

He had sensed in her something that was neither human, nor monster. An unknown creature, new to this world perhaps. A small part of him regretted not having taken her under his wing when he’d had the chance. Now, there she stood. 

Spotting him across the grown, she gasped when their eyes met. She shook her head no in a gesture seen only by the witcher, then stepped forward and put her head into the noose. 

It was a quick and unspectacular affair. 

Geralt turned around and left before he got to see the last of her life shake violently out of her.


	5. Secret Realm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt murders five gross men and gets to know more about Hayat.

Something bothered the witcher in that place he did not acknowledge very often.    
  
The dead were dead. There was no use mourning those who were gone.    
  
But Hayat had not deserved her fate. And Geralt felt he owed it to her to at least make sure she could at least rest in peace, so he decided to watch over her remains and see to it that she was laid to rest in a respectful way. And that no ghouls or other flesh eating creatures attempted to make a meal out of her.   
  
He was headed for the barn at the edge of town, where the discarded corpse had been carted off and stored for later disposal - just in time to see a group of five men skulk along the walls of the barn and slip in one by one.    
  
There was no doubt in Geralt’s mind as to what their intentions were, especially since, once inside, one of them began to sing a filthy and blasphemous song.    


One of them had already loosened the fastenings of his breeches and had hopped on the pile of hay where Hayat was posed.    
  
“Gentlemen. Mind if I join in the fun?” Geralt said, slipping in as well and bolting the door behind him.    
  
“Be on your way, witcher, if you want to see the dawn.” One of the men said. “Leave us to it. It’s not like she’ll need this carcass any longer.”   
  
“That doesn’t mean it’s yours to do with as you please. Have you not heard what happens to those who lay with the dead?”    
  
“Wives’ tales. She’s dead and fresh. Safest woman to be in ever. Now, fuck off. Or aren’t you bright enough to see you’re locked in here alone with us?”   
  
Geralt tutted.   
  
“From where I stand, it looks like you are locked in here with me.”    
  
Five horny men with axes, knives and a pitchfork were no match for a skilled fighter like Geralt. In a matter of minutes, there were five even fresher corpses on the ground, their blood soaking the mixture of dirt and straw.    
  
Geralt put his sword in its sheath again and sat on the pile of hay, next to Hayat.    
  
A ray of moonlight reached down through a crack in the roof, bathing her features in a cold, serene aura. She did not look dead, just blissfully asleep.    
  
“I’m sorry, little beastie.” Geralt said moving the small shirt lower so Hayat was covered properly. The man from earlier had lifted it past her waist. “I seem to have a habit of letting princesses down. I wish I had made it here sooner. But now, at least, you’re at peace. You were such a strange and wild creature, like none in this world. And beautiful beyond imagining. I live and breathe now because of you.”    
  
Geralt’s words were cut short by the distinct sound of bones cracking.    
  
He stopped talking and listened. Another crack.    
  
Hayat’s body spasmed and twisted briefly, then stopped. Then twisted again.    
  
And Hayat took a loud, deep breath, sitting up.   
  
“Fuck,” Geralt proclaimed, springing back and drawing his sword. “Not undead. Fuck fuck fuck. I don’t want to kill you.”   
  
“Then don’t.” Hayat said. “Look. I’m not undead. I just don’t die as easily as people would like me to.”    
  
“But, how? I thought it was determined you have no magic?” Geralt asked. “I don’t sense any dark energies swirling inside you either.”    
  
“That’s because there are none. There’s just me… “   
  
_ And me. You can tell him, he won’t judge.  _   
  
Hayat rolled her eyes.    
  
“I also have an… imaginary friend. I’ve had him since I was a little girl and he always made me feel like I’m not alone and I’m always supported in everything I do. It must have happened because my family didn’t bother much with me. My mother loved me, but she had to send me away.”   
  
Geralt tilted his head, appearing to ponder what Hayat had told him, still eyeing her suspiciously.    
  
“Hmm… I don’t think you have a djinn or another immaterial being living inside you. Come away from here. If you are alive, you do not belong among the dead. We need to find you some clothes.”    
  
“I have some, stashed away in the forest. I want to leave this town.” Hayat announced, standing up.    
  
She did not miss the witcher’s eyes on her shapely thighs as she got up.    
  
They left the town unseen and unbothered, walking side by side, Roach calmly following Geralt.   
  
“Where are we going?” Geralt asked. “Do you have some place in mind or just... away from here?”   
  
“I have a little place in the forest, not far from the edge.” Hayat said. “We should be there by nightfall.”    
  
Geralt nodded and followed her across fields and through a creek, into the forest and far from the beaten path. Eventually, they arrived at a cluster of rocks sticking out from the ground and Hayat drew a sign in the air with her fingers. Its contour lit up, glowed red and then faded, opening a portal to a place with a small house surrounded by a garden.   
  
“This is my place.” Hayat said, taking Geralt’s hand. “Come. We still need to figure out dinner.”   
  



	6. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt stops for a while in Hayat's world and meets her powerful protector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wrote itself and it made sense at this point of the story. I realise a smut chapter is long overdue and it IS coming. :)

Once inside the house, Geralt looked around. It was a small home which had all the things one would expect to see in a house. The kitchen seemed in use and there were a few things in the pantry.   
  
Hayat opened a drawer and took out three gold coins, putting them in a bag, blowing on them and handing them to Geralt   
  
“If you follow the path down the hill to the few houses there and ask for Selin, she will give you a basket of foods in exchange for the coins. Hurry.”   
  
Geralt did as he was told and took the path downhill, arriving to a small and beautiful village. He asked a child who was playing near the road where Selin was and he was shown a barn a bit further away.   
  
Upon finding Selin, he was surprised to have the older woman smile and greet him, calling him by name with a familiarity Geralt was not used to.   
  
“Welcome, Geralt. I have the things for Hayat here.” The woman said and smiled. “I believe you have coin for me?”   
  
Geralt handed her the closed bag.   
  
“Six gold coins, that should cover it.” Selin said and watched Geralt’s face as she opened the bag.   
  
He had clearly seen Hayat put only three coins in the bag, but the women would have to settle the money issue among themselves, as he was broke as usual.   
  
To his amazement, Selin opened the bag and got six coins spilling onto her table.   
  
“I’ll have my coin bag back if you please, so I can be on my way.” Geralt said, grabbing the food basket as well.   
  
“Farewell, beautiful Geralt.” Selin said, as Geralt was nearly out the door.   
  
He turned around. No one called him beautiful, not in his world.   
  
But when he looked around, she was gone.   
  
At the exit from the village, instead of the child, he encountered a yellow cat. He fully expected to be hissed and swatted at, but the animal purred loudly and pushed his head up towards Geralt. The witcher placed his palm onto the small head and stroked it a few times. Such a simple joy it was, to finally meet a cat who was not afraid of him.   
  
But he needed to rush back to Hayat’s house and he climbed back up the hill and into the woods.   
  
He found her making the fire and singing.   
  
Geralt listened. He did not know the language she was singing in, but the song itself was beautiful and had a wistful sound to it. He waited to be noticed, leaning against the doorframe.   
  
He couldn’t help but look at Hayat with the eyes of wonder. She was not a sorceress, yet she commanded the world around herself with ease. She had control over life and death, clearly, and the thing with the coins was also remarkable. Plus, if he thought about it, she was not just good at portals, like few mages were. Portals took one from one place on the Continent to another. Hayat had opened a portal to another dimension, one where nature and the geography were exactly the same but where no one else but the two of them could enter.   
  
“Geralt, I need help with cooking. You must be starving, so let’s hurry.”   
  
He found himself quickly shedding his armour and leather layer, and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He peeled and chopped and stirred while Hayat flavoured the food with herbs and told him what to do next.   
  
Geralt felt an immense weight on his mind and soul at the realisation that this was what he had always longed for. A simple existence, living alone in the woods with a mate, cooking, tending to a garden, roaming the forest and spending time together away from the rest of the world. But it was too late for him. He was a witcher, and there were no idyllic epilogues for a witcher’s story. Still, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment, fleeting as it was, feeling thankful to Hayat for letting him be in it with her.   
  
Dinner was simple and delicious and they ate outside, sitting on the threshold of the small house, watching the evening skies.   
  
A mushroom and vegetable stew with polenta and sweet oatmeal with berries were not what Geralt was used to, but he found the food pleasant and filling nonetheless. A tankard of ale would have chased the food down well, but instead, Hayat shared with him a liquor made from wild strawberries, strong and full of flavour. Geralt felt it go to his head at once.   
  
“The bag of coins… how did you do it?” He asked. “And how come you live again, but aren’t undead?”   
  
“The evils of this world cannot touch me, Geralt. I was once a scared little girl, sent to the forest by her father to collect winter berries for his new wife… and I gained the favour of something that is huge and powerful. It is neither a demon, nor any known creature. We cannot see him from down here because he envelops our entire world when he unfurls. As for the bag of coins, you may keep it. The only rule is never look inside it. Simply open it and it will always have the correct amount of coin you need.” 

“Why me, Hayat?” Geralt asked, echoing his question from two decades before.   
  
“You’ve always been kind to me, even when you did not have to. And because, even though the life you lead would be reason enough for you to grow hard and cold inside, you remain kind and fair.” Hayat said, moving closer to Geralt. “My turn now. Why do you desire me now? When I am older, covered in scars and bearing the marks of an unforgiving world?”   
  
She had noticed him looking at her with longing and the concern she was undead had quickly been replaced by passion. The witcher was plain to read. 

Geralt tilted his head and smiled crookedly. His eyes were sad as he spoke.  
  
“Because now you are more like me. A bit broken, a bit chipped around the edges. You feel familiar now. Back then… you were just a child to me, sweet and new. I wanted to let you finish being a child. My world is all too glad to corrupt all that is pure.”

Hayat watched him as he spoke, her eyes filling with unshed tears by the time Geralt was silent again. 

“May I?” She asked, leaning in  
  
Geralt said yes, uncaring what exactly to.   
  
Hayat rested her forehead on his. For a few moments, their breaths became one and Geralt felt a soft euphoric feeling take over him. He did not feel threatened and let it happen. 

He let her roam the unwalked paths of his childhood memories, in repressed dark corners of his mind. She saw all the people who had left a mark on Geralt’s life and led to him becoming the witcher he was. She saw all the torture, and pain, and loneliness and later the betrayals and the disappointment. But she also saw one bright spot, like the first shy flower piercing through the carpet of new spring grass. In exchange, he got to see her as a child, a spoiled five year old princess running down imposing halls in expensive silks and brocade, chased by an army of servants, nannies and tutors. He got to see her mother, calling little Hayat to her and when the child climbed into her arms, the queen began to sing in that strange and beautiful language Geralt had heard Hayat sing in earlier. All around the queen, the air came alive with burning runes, images, sparkling illusions of dragons and smaller beasts. Then it all cut to a day much later, when the queen stripped Hayat of her expensive jewelry and clothes and dressed her in black robes and veils instead, rubbing ashes and twigs into the princess’ hair and pushing her out a door. Geralt heard, without seeing, the pained howls of the queen on the other side of the door as Hayat’s eyes swam in tears as well.   
  
_How touching! Were you not going to introduce me at all, Hayat? Bad girl._   
  
“Sir Voice. I thought…” Hayat said, whispering.   
  
_Geralt is not like other people. And he can hear me. He won’t think you’re crazy._

Geralt sat next to Hayat, watching and listening with a confused look on his face. The voice sounded as though it came from his bones!  
  
He touched his forehead to Hayat’s again and got an expanding vision of the two of them on the threshold of the house, his point of view moving further and further up until he could see the whole Continent, their whole home world and the space beyond, teeming with lights and life of all sorts and colours. It was overwhelming even for his enhanced physiology and he felt himself fall back into his body.   
  
_And that’s just part of me. I am in everyone and everything. Hayat is just a point of connection with your kind. Otherwise I am unseen and unheard, the power that moves the pieces around on the chessboard of life._   
  
“So you are… destiny?” Geralt asked.   
  
_No, destiny is a cheap perversion of the laws of nature, a fairy tale people tell themselves to justify their poor decisions._   
  
“And you mean this world no harm? How come you haven’t hurt Hayat? She is too small a vessel to contain all of you.”   
  
_I can be as small or as large as I want. And she is my favourite human companion. Merely a child, alone, scared and sent into the freezing night to fulfill an impossible task all those years ago, she still risked her life to defend a poor cornered black cat in danger of being eaten by wolves. That cat was me, Geralt. Do you know how many millennia passed until someone showed me mercy? She did not know I had the power to make it all good again. She just saw a helpless animal. And for that, I’ve been her protector through the years. Which is why this world cannot touch her._   
  
“Good,” Geralt said, smiling.   
  
_I’ll leave you two alone for a while. I am sure she’ll be safe with you._   
  
Geralt gasped softly, realising what that meant. 


	7. We will wreck this world and bring to life those forgotten desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Hayat go to bed together. No sleep is had for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a line from a super horny on main song by Malcolm McLaren. Should tip you off to what sort of chapter this is.

“You are still apprehensive. Do you still doubt my being truly alive?” Hayat asks, going to sit on the clean bed.    
  
“Forgive me,” Geralt says, approaching, the drying cloth around his hips held close by his fist. “I keep wondering what you see in me.”    
  
“I see a soft warm heart that was not hardened by pain and betrayal. And someone whose warmth I would gladly take into my bones.”   
  
“You speak of strange things sometimes, Hayat. But you are strange and I find myself intrigued.” Geralt murmurs, tossing the drying cloth onto a nearby chair and coming to sit next to Hayat on the bed.    
  
They lean close to each other, their faces painted silver by the moonlight coming from outside.    
  
There’s a small gasp from Hayat and Geralt touches his lips to hers, cautiously at first, then more daringly.    
  
The witcher is as skilled with his lips as he is with his blades and soon he has Hayat melting against him, falling into the easy give and take of the kiss.    
  
He still tastes of the berry liquor from earlier; she, of salt and smoke. Geralt’s mind fills with images of her recent past, being so wronged and betrayed by the very people she tried to help.    


Geralt has to remind himself there is no magic to her, at least, not the one coming from her cosmic passenger. But her own magic, the irresistible charm that made Geralt sin with his mind twenty years ago? It’s there, untouched by time and disappointment.    
  
The more places on her his lips conquer, the hungrier he becomes. He must make her his completely and leave no spot on her unclaimed. He’s never felt the urge to protect someone as he does with her, and he knows that in another lifetime, one where he wasn’t a witcher, he would gladly crawl on his knees before her and beg her to take him in as her humble servant, a clumsier and less magical familiar perhaps - someone allowed to devote his existence to making her happy at any rate.    
  
Geralt can sense the immense power in the blood pulsing hotly beneath her cool, white skin. He kisses scar after scar, his hands carefully opening buttons and sliding the shirt off of her in a motion that traces her shoulders in a long caress. His rough hands caress and squeeze her small breasts before going around to her back and up, to her shorn head. He carefully guides her to lie down on the bed, cradling her like a precious found treasure.   
  
Their bodies naturally fit against each other, her legs coming to wrap around his hips and letting him settle where he belongs. Geralt lets himself rest on top of Hayat, only his arms holding him up above her - he knows she can easily take his full weight, but he doesn’t want to end the kiss they are sharing and prolonging as though they plan on actually fusing into one being by the time the night ends.    
  
He can feel her body respond to his closeness and her heat becomes irresistible. Like once, long ago, in the bowels of Melitele’s temple, Geralt feels irresistibly lured. This time, there is no magic, just his lust at play.    
  
Hayat shifts beneath him so that her folds now cradle his length and if he wanted to, he could move back and forth and bring himself to a lazy completion that way. But there is time for that after, Geralt thinks and focuses - only for the time it takes him to angle himself and push inside her.    
  
A gasp, and Hayat’s eyes roll back as though she were entering a trance. But soon, she recovers and lays ravenous eyes on Geralt. She bites her lips and squirms a bit, not to get away, but to get all of him inside herself. It takes all of Geralt’s control to wait and not start moving right away. She feels like molten lava engulfing him, spreading up and down his spine and frying his pleasure pathways, probably ruining him for other lovers.    
  
“Fuck,” the witcher comments, becoming aware of the thick sheen of sweat on his skin. And he hasn’t even moved yet.    
  
“Good idea,” Hayat comments, her hands sneaking between them to find and pinch his nipples, twisting them too and releasing the pressure for only a moment before going back to that almost unbearable squeeze and pull.    
  
Geralt lets out an animal sound. More of this and he might even pass out and embarrass himself.    
  
“You are mine now and all for me,” Hayat says in a sing-song voice and while Geralt finds it creepy-sounding, he feels himself becoming even harder and starting to move.    
  
Her hands, greedy, explore the vast expanse of his chest with its furred texture and the soft skin beneath. Before Geralt can get more carried away, he flips them over, so that she is now on top and can control how she’s taking him in. Beneath her, Geralt’s hips roll and press up relentlessly. His heels dig into the bed and his hands, idle until now, come to rest on her thighs and to find new, hidden places he can tickle and coax pleasure from.    
  
When he feels himself nearing his peak, he sits up and folds his arms around Hayat, needing the closeness. He kisses her gently, slowly, in contrast with the way their bodies are moving with each other.    
  
“Spill inside me. I want to feel you do that, Geralt.” Hayat whispers, her soft lips tracing a small path from the witcher’s neck to his cheek.    
  
Geralt feels oddly inadequate, for the first time in his long life. He cannot give her the full fantasy or the gamble that women so much desire.    
  
“My seed is dead, Hayat. I don’t have the gift you are after.” He says softly, apologetically. He hates how it comes out, so pitiful. _People know witchers are sterile, why doesnt she?_   
  
Hayat laughs softly.    
  
“As dead as my doom chamber… We fit together perfectly,  _ my Geralt _ .”    


The way she says it - my Geralt - is filled with so much promise and so much power, the words themselves send a lightning of intense pleasure down the witcher’s spine and he stiffens taut like a bowstring, then releases, giving Hayat her wish.  She sits on his lap, bearing down heavily and resting her face in the L of his shoulder and neck. A deep, dark, utterly satisfied sounding laughter bubbles up from inside her and she muffles it against Geralt’s skin.    
  
“That was incredible. I shall have you in so many ways. Good thing you’re enhanced.” She says.    
  
Slowly, she disentangles from him, but Geralt watches her lie down on her back, resting on the bed between his spread legs, her own parted wide enough to expose her to him.    
  
“Look what you’ve done. Take it back.” She says, beckoning him with a long finger.    
  
Geralt can’t kneel fast enough. 


	8. Feats of Endurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayat and Geralt are still at it and some things come up in conversation. 
> 
> Warning: sex, oral sex, squirting

There are very few people Geralt wants to go down on. He’ll do it to repay a lover in kind; he’ll do it if he is told and he generally doesn’t mind. But it’s not his favourite thing to do.   
  
Because people have a smell and it’s not a very pleasant one for Geralt. He loves the way the forest smells; the road, his horse and many other things, but not people. His dick does a great job creating the illusion of closeness and connection while keeping everyone at a distance.   
  
But Hayat, as he finds out, is to him what a ten herb spice mix is to an unseasoned pot. He wants to savour all of her; to take her in and lock the multi-sense memory of her deep within himself so he can enjoy it when the world around doesn’t want him. 

He is not so convinced the only magic she has comes from Sir Voice.   
  
To him, she smells and tastes fresh and clean and like the promise of lasting happiness. It should not render him so reckless and rob him of his mind, but it does.   
  
The way she responds to his attentions is addictive too. Absolutely shameless and unselfconscious, she is just riding the waves of pleasure Geralt elicits in her. His tongue knows where to caress and his lips close over sensitive flesh that responds with eagerness.   
  
He is hard again and, while pressing, the sensation moves to the background of consciousness. More than anything, he wants her to come for him; he wants to be the net catching her when she tumbles over the edge.   
  
Before he can stop or oppose the change, she slides down his body like an eel fleeing downstream and her lips wrap around the head of Geralt’s cock.   
  
The sound that leaves his chest is not dignified, nor is it human-sounding. He adjusts to the new level of intensity of the moment and hugs her thighs closer, burying his face back in her heat.   
  
Geralt was once told by a pleasure merchant that pleasuring and being pleasured at the same time is a waste and something that only peasants do in the barns during furtive trysts where it has to go fast before the girl’s father drives a pitchfork through the lad’s bared behind. Which is why he abandoned that altogether and since others made sex so transactional, he always insisted he get his coin’s worth and no less.   
  
Hayat is not experienced like the women from the brothels and she doesn’t make it a challenge out of getting Geralt off in the least time possible. What she lacks in experience, she makes up for in dedication. Her hands are pulling him deeper into her mouth and she tries things with her tongue and lips that still feel incredible. Geralt knows she could use magic, but he loves that she doesn’t.   
  
They take their time with each other, registering every quiver and small tremor, every ripple of muscle and moan. Geralt comes first, his only sound a small throaty gasp that fades into a sigh as he closes his eyes and stiffens momentarily with his head resting on one of Hayat’s thighs.   
  
But she hasn’t come yet, and Geralt cannot have that. He always gets what he wants, so he rearranges them. He kneels up with Hayat’s spread legs supported on his upper arms. He holds her close and tilts her over until she can grab the wooden board at the head of the bed and he can free a hand.   
  
Two fingers and his tongue persistently tracing the same shape on her aroused flesh are all it takes. Hayat comes with a scream and sparkling fluid erupts from her, soaking Geralt’s whole face, shoulders and chest.   
  
He smiles against her folds, feeling her entire body quiver to a rhythm while she lies bonelessly, collapsed in the position Geralt moved her to.   
  
It’s up to him to ease her back down on the bed and hold her close, caressing her until her heartbeat returns to normal kissing her breasts softly before he can get to her lips.   
  
“I did not know there was... that.” She says, her face illuminated with the lingering glow of profound pleasure. 

Geralt looks smug for a moment, before his features shift into appreciation. He feels pretty content as well, and he can see his efforts hit their mark.   
  
She uses magic to get the bed back to a pleasant, crisp state - much later, when she feels like moving again. Geralt, she leaves sticky and dripping for a while longer, until she lures him into the bathtub, where he ends up taking her in the peach flavoured water. Of all the people in the world, they are the only two to not have to worry about waterborne infections and itchy consequences - so why not take advantage.   
  
Geralt discovers the limits of his witcher sex drive with Hayat. And when he gets there, she makes the offer.   
  
While they are in her pocket dimension, she can undo all his mutations. He is a normal, unenhanced man, the way he would have grown up to be if Visenna had never taken him to Kaer Morhen.   
  
Golden skin, blue eyes, tight, shiny curls that lighten in the sunlight and look dark otherwise - Geralt sees a stranger in the mirror and Hayat finds him staring, standing in front of the reflective surface with tears running down his face.   
  
The man in the mirror is also a bit broader and heavier than Geralt is used to seeing, but still an image of strength - strength used to roll casks of ale up the stairs or down to the cellar, forearms enlarged by kneading bread before dawn and thighs thick from lifting bales of hay onto his shoulder.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Hayat says, slipping her hand into Geralt’s. “I did not mean to taunt you.”   
  
Geralt turns to her and leans down, kissing her with lips still carrying the salt of tears.   
  
“You showed me nothing I have not pictured in my imagination before,” Geralt says. “He is not me. He lives in a world with fewer monsters and less evil.”   
  
Hayat touches the mirror and the reflection shifts again, showing long white hair, yellow cat eyes and scarred skin. 

“Come. I need to feed you and I need to rest.” Hayat says.   
  
Later, in bed, as they settle for sleep, lying close together like two carefree lovers would, Geralt watches the night sky through the window above the bed.   
  
“You said you gave up being able to have children… how did that happen? Don’t you sometimes wonder how it would have been? All sorceresses I know do.”   
  
“I guess I always had a disdain for that part of me. I saw it as a curse before I saw it as potential. The princess had to supply the kingdom with many heirs, they told me. Even as a child, aged five, I had to hear that and not how I would inherit the throne. So I made a deal and got rid of it as soon as a good reason to do so came along.”   
  
“It was you,” Geralt pieces the past together aloud. “It was how I survived that last time when Nenneke let me heal at her temple. I knew I should not have survived that monster’s blows. It had strong dark magic, stronger than anything I’d ever fought. And dark magic is pure unleashed chaos. That can only be appeased with a terrible sacrifice.”   
  
“It was not one for me. I wanted you to live. We both won from the deal.”   
  
“Me more than you. What did you see, that made you want to save me?”   
  
“I saw love and joy in your future and I wanted you to live to taste them.”   
  
“Well that is unlikely. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for the part where love finds me on the witcher’s lonely path.” Geralt says, bitter disbelief in his voice while he’s falling asleep.   
  
“No you won’t,” Hayat whispers. “You will spit at his feet and chase him away.”   
  
_Not if I can help it_ , Sir Voice’s gleeful reply resounds in her mind. _Now if you’re done mixing body fluids with the good witcher, I’d like to resume my scheming._ _  
_   
“I’m not done yet. I’ve just exhausted him for now.”   
  



	9. Hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt agrees to travel with Hayat and teach her sword fighting.

_ Hayat? I’m hungry.  _   
  
“But we just ate!”   
  
_ No, I’m  _ **_hungry_ ** _.  _ _   
_ _   
_ “Oh.” Hayat says, realising what Sir Voice means. “Well, I did promise. But we’re not eating Geralt. That would be rude.”    
_   
_ _ Geralt is not a food. Geralt is a friend. I crave something else. Let’s go for a walk.   
_   
  
***   
  
Geralt wakes slowly, to the feeling of a sun beam tickling his face and to the sound of roosters announcing noon.    
  
He hears singing from the kitchen and he makes his way there, seeing Hayat preparing breakfast. She now has beautiful clothes on, boots, high waisted trousers and a comfortable shirt. And, most importantly, her hair grew back!    
  
“How long was I asleep for?” Geralt asks fearing something strange is afoot. Hair doesn’t grow back overnight.    
  
  
“Since you called it a night and… oh look, it’s noon. I take it you slept well?” Hayat turns to bask in Geralt’s casual nudity, smack dab in the middle of her kitchen. “Good morning, or rather, good day to you.”   
  
Geralt only grunts in response, having to admit privately that he will always be in the fog about some things as far as Hayat is concerned.    
  
“Care to dress and join me for a meal? It might be too late for breakfast, but…”    
  
“Thank you, I could use some food. Whatever you are making smells incredible.”    
  
Hayat serves Geralt some sliced homemade bread, toasted over the fire and topped with mushroom stew, spinach and fried eggs.    
  
He cleans the plate and before he gets seconds, he notices she’s not eating.    
  
“Aren’t you hungry?” He asks, watching her sip water from a clar glass.    
  
“I’ve already had my fill.” Hayat says. “Would you like to stay in this place some more or would you like to leave?”    
  
Geralt watches her and smiles crookedly.   
  
“I thought witches are supposed to make you forget you wanted to leave, keep you and enslave you or cook you.”    
  
“Well, I’m not a witch, am I?”   
  
“True. From what I’ve seen you are more powerful than most mages. Speaking of which. Why don’t you clean up the Continent? You could do so with only a thought.”    
  
“That is not how this works. Most people don’t think of themselves as monsters and would rather keep their lives. But eventually, everything merges into one. I do not want to rush it. It is enough that the closer people are to me, the sooner they face the consequences of their actions.”   
  
“I guess that’s fair.” Geralt says, munching on the last of his late breakfast. “Let’s leave this place and travel the land. I’d love to learn your language.”    
  
“In exchange, you could teach me how to use a sword.”    
  
“But you have unlimited powers. What do you need a sword for?!”    
  
“No matter how much magic is stored in my bones, there is still a certain elegance of the flesh that is unmatched. I want that. I want to feel the way I feel when I watch you kill.”    
  
Geralt smiles sadly.   
  
“That’s nothing to aspire to. I don’t like killing. Sadly, it is what I am best at.”    
  
Hayat comes to sit on the floor next to Geralt’s chair and rests her head on his thigh, looking up.    
  
“Please?”   
  
Geralt finds himself reaching to trace her face hesitantly. She is beautiful and ageless to him, and he again feels unworthy of getting to touch her. She is royalty, after all, even though she doesn’t care for it.    
  
“You never have to beg me, Hayat.” He replies, his voice soft and not as deep as usual. “I will teach you to the best of my abilities. But I’m not much of a teacher.”    
  
Hayat pushes her head up into Geralt’s retreating palm, like an affection-starved cat, coaxing Geralt into caressing her face some more and further into extending his caresses downward over her neck and past the loose collar of her shirt.    
  
She takes his hands in hers and turns them with the palms facing up. They are callused, cracked hands that have held a sword way too often.    
  
“Don’t… don’t look too closely.” Geralt says, suddenly embarrassed. He feels like a dried up bug, found on a window sill and held in the sunlight by a child looking for a new addition to his bug collection.    
  
“Close your eyes, Geralt. I’m not judging. These are good hands. Your hands.” Hayat says in a soft, small voice, almost a whisper. “Picture them whole and new. Picture how much more you can feel now. Can you? Can you imagine that?”   
  
Geralt does as he is told, after all, he never knew how to say no to Hayat, nor did he want to and the one time he did it took a toll on him.    
  


Hayat runs her much softer hands over Geralt’s palms, the pads of her fingers caressing his entire hand. 

  
“Feel how soft my hair is now, Geralt. Look at me.” She commands, and he obeys, opening his eyes. His hands are now cradling her cheeks and going up into her hair. They are mended, healthy and feeling now.    
  
And Geralt knows that this is not the trickery that doesn’t last, which most mages employ. Hayat commands life and death, her healing as long-lasting as he will be.    
  
“Thank you. You spoil me.” He says, leaning close to kiss her.    
  
“One who uses not one, but two swords so often could definitely benefit from a good pair of hands.” She says, shrugging before pulling him down to the floor.    
  
Geralt finds that he can now feel a lot more things, much more exciting than the sword.    
  
***   
  
It is the morning of the next day when they return to the usual reality of the Continent, Geralt on Roach and Hayat on a completely black horse she called Norg.   
  
As they approach the town where Geralt crossed paths with Hayat and witnessed her execution, the witcher notices how quiet it is.    
  
Another execution, maybe, and the townspeople are gathered in the town market?    
  
But soon it becomes apparent they are not enjoying some cruel entertainment.    
  
The streets are soaked in blood and there are random, shredded and barely held together body parts strewn all over. Bloody fingerprints on house walls and doors. But the most jarring thing is the silence. Geralt finds it deafening.    
  
“What could have happened here? No one was spared. No one.” Geralt says. “It’s like poetic justice for what they did to you. Which means there must be a monster close by. When I find it, I will kill it, and bring its disgusting head to the lord of the land. Maybe get some coin.”    
  
“You have the coin purse from me. You no longer need to worry about coin for as long as you use it without looking inside it.”    
  
“Alright, but monsters should not be allowed to roam this land freely. They do not belong here.”    
  
_ He tosses the word monster around quite freely, doesn’t he?  _   



	10. Belated Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt figures out he needs to sort his problems, but the way he decides to proceed might not be the smoothest course of action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a wrap, friends!  
> I wrote the ending like this so I can bring Hayat back easily if I need her later down the line. But I am still salty about how harsh Geralt was to Jaskier on that mountain so... here we are.

***   
  
It is years later, on a mountain top, as he feels the flames of fury die down, that Geralt remembers Hayat’s words.    
  
“You will spit at his feet and chase him away.”   
  
He can hear Jaskier’s footsteps further and further in the distance.    
  
He wants to chase after the man and crumble to his knees, tell him what a grave mistake he’s made and ask for forgiveness, but there’s a black claw tightening around his mind saying “no, I don’t allow it”.   
  
All Geralt can do is stand alone on the mountain edge and look into the distance, hoping no one sees the tears that are trying to escape his eyes.    
  
He hopes everyone else will be alright - Borch, Yennefer, and yes, even Jaskier, though he doubts Jaskier will just dust himself off and move on. It’s now painfully clear that the bard has feelings for him. Feelings which he did not deign to acknowledge, let alone mirror back. And Jaskier, far more considerate than his loud and annoying exterior might indicate, let those feelings crystallise into friendship and unconditional support when it would have been much easier to hate Geralt and grow cold towards him for not returning his feelings.    
  
It’s as though a thick dark veil has been preventing the witcher to see things clearly until it was too late to fix them.    
  
He of all people should have known not to trust the outcome of a dire situation to a djinn. Those creatures have a talent for finding the one way of granting wishes that will bring the most misery onto the people involved.    
  
Hayat.    
  
Thoughts of her always hurt and he’s buried them deep.   
  
After traveling the Continent together for a long time, Hayat grew more and more disappointed with humans. Monsters, she could understand. But humans had a choice how to act and most of the time they chose the selfish, heartless way.    
  
What hurt her the most was the way humans used nature and the other animals they shared it with.    
  
She decided to create another world, away from theirs, where all animals could escape and be safe from monsters and humans. But it came at a cost, as Sir Voice explained. She could not remain on The Continent. If she did, evil, greedy people would find ways to travel to her haven and wreak destruction and death there as well, as they did in their own world.

Geralt hadn’t liked Hayat leaving him so soon after he’d found a companion.    
  
She had offered to allow him to come along to her new world. But Geralt felt that would not be something a witcher could do.    
  
There was also the fact that he had caught on to her and Sir Voice sometimes extinguishing entire villages off the face of the earth for slights that could have been used as teaching moments. Killing in excess and for the enjoyment of it was what made a creature a monster, and Geralt wouldn’t have known how to fight Hayat and her almighty secret passenger. Which was why it was most fortunate that she was leaving The Continent, on one hand. On the other, she was the one living being who wanted Geralt with all of his scars and mistakes without expecting anything in return.    
  
They had gone their separate ways, and the last Geralt had seen of Hayat had been her catching fire and burning completely, a bird as shining and as bright as the sun rising from the ashes and flying through a portal which closed behind her.    
  
“Everyone leaves.” Geralt told himself. All these years of knowing her, and yet he hadn’t meant enough to her to be worth staying for. 

Now he had made sure no one wanted to stay. He saw no end to his witcher life, besides dying in a fight with a monster or rotting in some monarch’s prison.    
  
There was one man… one man in the whole world who wanted to be around him no matter how bad things got… and he had chased him away.    


It didn’t occur to him to run down the mountain and catch up to Jaskier anymore.    
  
~~~   
  
Geralt knows the root of all his issues is that cursed seal and the djinn connected to it. And that is something a certain purple-eyed sorceress is most qualified to help him with. The price of her help may have grown very steep since the last time he needed her help… and Geralt only hopes he can afford whatever price she names. Because he cannot afford to be a slave to perverse djinn magic any longer. It has already cost him his peace, his rest and his one friend he had left. 


End file.
